


Love Me Dead

by LolitaBlue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, First Kiss, First Time, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Porn With Plot, Riding, Serial Killer Dean, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Dean, Weecest, its pretty mild knifeplay but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolitaBlue/pseuds/LolitaBlue
Summary: "You're just the type of pretty thing I'd like to have hangin' off the edge of my knife."Sam peeked up through his eyelashes, baby-soft and full of sin. "Thanks...but I think I'd look even prettier hanging off the edge of your dick instead."That was the moment Dean Winchester knew he'd fallen in love.





	Love Me Dead

**Author's Note:**

> i dedicate all 7.2k words of this complete, utter sin to the two dudes who motivated me to write this. y'all are the best ;)
> 
> BUT IN ALL HONESTY THIS IS PRETTY KINKY IN A V DARK WAY AND NOT MY NORMAL TONE OF FIC SO TAKE THIS AND ROLL WITH IT LMAO RIP 
> 
> [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvjiJqqMCfE&list=PLIcNma7RoFhEU6x8xOaHztXuey-PCLP9v) a link to a playlist i made while writing this

Dean was the worst kind of human.

Eighteen years of moving, lying, and shooting things in the face could really twist a person's sanity, and Dean was losing his mind. Hunting was nobody's first choice, but Dean saw it as an obligation, and he felt like he had a duty to the world. It wasn't all bad, he liked the killing, but somewhere along the line he'd become just as bad as the things he loved hunting. Maybe even worse. Monsters, they were born to kill, but Dean's only excuse was that he enjoyed feeling powerful and in control.

The real kicker was that their father had no idea. The bastard left Sam and Dean alone so much, he was completely oblivious to the behavior of his eldest son. Sammy was suspicious, the boy was too smart to let these things go unnoticed, but John was practically feeding Dean's beast. Every time he pressed a gun, or a knife, into the palm of his son's hand, the demon inside him grew a little bit stronger. It was only a matter of time before what little light left inside of Dean was entirely consumed by darkness, and that darkness included the sick little crush he had on his baby brother.

For the first eighteen years of his life, his homicidal urges took precedence over the fact that he was sporting a major hard-on for his baby brother, but Dean couldn't ignore things forever. The bigger Sammy grew, the harder it became to control himself, and by the time Dean was nineteen, he had already killed three people in the name of Sam Winchester.

The thing is, Dean didn't just wanna fuck Sam. Oh no, he wanted to _hurt_ him.

Dean had an obsession with all things gory and obscene, and the idea that he could tear into his brother's skin was like a kid tearing open presents on Christmas. He liked the thrill that came with taking a life, so the thought of having so much control over the one person he cherished made Dean's head spin. He loved killing, and he loved Sam, so why shouldn't he be able to combine the two?

The problem was that he couldn't have what he desired. As much as Dean wanted to strip away Sam's innocence- and his flesh- he knew he couldn't. It was torture, wanting to rip into the only person you truly desired. It's not that Dean had an issue fucking Sam, he would do that in a heartbeat, but he knew that physical contact would open the gates to his darker, untamed self. Self-control was never Dean's strong suit.

Thankfully, he'd found an alternative to hurting Sammy. One of the first things Dean learned was that sex was a weapon, and he was a master of the craft. Every time he felt compelled to wedge a blade between Sam's shoulder blades, or press the barrel of his gun against the back of Sam's head, he went to the closest bar he could find. Then he'd scope the place out, looking for the youngest, most innocent brunette he could find. Dean loved the tall ones, with lanky limbs and ruddy cheeks, just like his brother. He used to simply take them to a motel and fuck them until they cried, and they would go their separate ways the next morning. But it wasn't enough. Eventually, he started gutting them. Dean did horrible, unspeakable things to the women he took to bed, while they flirted and teased, unaware that his face would be the last they ever saw. Covering their mouths so they couldn't scream, Dean did a thorough job of both making a mess and then cleaning it up.

Three times, Dean took a woman to bed, knowing he'd be the only one to get out of it.

Three times, Dean felt so moved to hurt his own flesh and blood by an unspeakable evil, that he lost all traces of self-restraint.

Three times, Dean played God, deciding that some strangers life was worth less than his baby brother.

Three times, Dean killed in cold blood, and he was in the middle of number four.

Somewhere around the thirty minute mark, she'd passed out. Her name was Tracy Longhorn, and she was studying to be a veterinarian. Dean was sort of grateful when she slipped into the realm of unconsciousness, because it made it easier to get this over with quickly. There wasn't time to cut and carve the way he wanted to. Sure, he created a pretty gruesome crime scene that he'd have to work hard on cleaning up, but it was time for things to draw to a close. Under normal circumstances, Dean would've waited until she woke up, waited to hear her beg, but tonight was more out of necessity than pleasure. John had just left for another hunt, which meant Dean would be alone with Sam for the next five to six days. He had to make sure everything was under control, and that his bloodlust was satisfied, before he could be trusted to sleep in the same room as his little brother.

His hands were already coated in blood, so he decided to take the cleaner way out, by strangling the girl instead of using a weapon. It was hard to tell when she'd been properly asphyxiated since she was already unconscious, but he held a small pocket mirror under her nose to see if she was breathing. She wasn't.

Twenty-five minutes and a ton of bleach later, Dean had properly disposed of the body and all evidence that could possibly connect him to the crime. He washed his hands, but the sticky red liquid still clung to his fingers, calling him out for what he'd done. Dean tried his best to rub it off before going back inside the motel, but it was no use. Even if it was gone, Sam would still know something was up.

"Dean," Sam said, surprised, as he came through the door, "I didn't expect you back so soon...or at all, really."

Dean's gut lurched. Sam was sitting cross-legged on the bed with a book in his lap. His lips were red, and a little bit swollen. He'd obviously been chewing on them while he studied.

"I couldn't leave ya alone," Dean smiled as he slapped on the facade.

"Wouldn't have been the first time," Sam pointed out, rolling his eyes.

Dean sighed, then took off his jacket and tossed it on the chair by the door, "What have you been doing?"

Sam gestured to the homework on the bed, "Just this."

"Nerd."

"Shuddup, jerk." Sam paused to bite his lip, making Dean's body hot, while he took note of the blood on his big brother's hands. "W-What about you?" he asked hesitantly. Sam fisted the sheets as he spoke, most likely because he was nervous. Dean briefly imagined he was doing it out of arousal, instead, then stopped himself before things went too far. Control. He needed to be on his absolute best behavior.

"Went to the bar," Dean said, keeping his tone casual. It was important to act like you had nothing to hide. "Met a girl, got a room, then called it a night."

"Didn't know you were the type to smash and dash." Sam was scowling a little bit, and it filled Dean's chest with unreasonable optimism. Maybe Sam was jealous.

Dean gave him a smug smirk. "Yeah you did."

"Where'd the mess come from?"

"Oh," Dean said, lifting his hands up a little, as if he'd forgotten what was on them, "I met a few guys there, too. Turns out they don't like bein' hustled. They started to pick a fight and, well, clearly they lost."

Sam nodded without saying anything.

Dean headed to the bathroom, thinking he was off the hook and that Sam's inquisition was finished. After managing to scrape the dried blood from his skin, Dean splashed some water on his face and shook his head. He really needed to get a grip if he was gonna make it through the next few days without incident. It's been harder lately. Sam's been acting...different. He was constantly watching Dean from the corner of his eye, he flat out stared when he thought Dean wasn't looking, and he suddenly cared a lot more about Dean's late night activities. It was obvious that Sam suspected Dean. Of what, he wasn't sure. Dean didn't think Sam knew either, and the only thing the younger Winchester was absolutely positive was that Dean was omitting parts of the truth. He would have to be careful and really pay attention to the things he said from now on.

After throwing on a clean set of clothes, Dean tossed the ones he was wearing in the corner of the bathroom. He made a mental note to burn them while Sam was at school the next day.

"Did you eat?" Dean asked, falling down on to the bed next to Sam's.

"No," Sam answered, with only the slightest bit of hesitation, "Was too busy studyin'. Probably should get somethin'."

Any other person wouldn't have noticed, but this was Dean. He knew Sam better than he knew himself. That was a lie, and most likely an attempt to catch Dean in the act. "You have anything particular in mind?"

"Figured I'd just pick some stuff up at the 7-Eleven across the street," Sam shrugged.

"Want me to come with you?"

"M'not a kid, Dean I think I can handle a walk across the street. I'm fifteen not five, you don't gotta hold my hand while I look both ways," Sam huffed. Always the brat.

"Easy, tiger, I was just askin'. Bring me back some jerky if you think about it," Dean chuckled, putting his hands behind his head, then closing his eyes.

"Sure. You mind if I have the money?"

Dean popped an eye open. "What money?"

"The cash you just hustled," Sam said slowly.

Busted.

"Oh that," Dean began, "I, uh, left it in the Impala. Here-" he sat up and rooted through his pockets for his wallet, handing Sam a twenty, "-you can use this for tonight."

Sam snatched it with a look of skepticism. Dean needed him to leave the room as soon as possible so he could cool down. Fidgety and inquisitive was a good look on Sam, and Dean was starting to feel the hold he had on his mental stability fading away.

"You want anything else besides jerky?"

"M'fine, kiddo. Thanks."

Sam left and Dean felt like he could breathe again.

\----

Two days passed without any more interrogations. Dean kept himself in line and Sam stopped squirming so much. They'd just finished doing a load of laundry at the laundromat when the TV hanging on the wall in the corner of the room starting blaring with a news report.

_Tracy Longhorn. Age 20. Missing._

Dean stopped folding his clothes to look at the screen, equal parts horrified and proud of what he'd done. They wouldn't catch him. They never did. Dean's had too much training, and was too skilled at covering his tracks to ever be arrested. Tracy Longhorn was Dean's fourth victim, and he was going to get away with murder.

Sam peeked up from what he was doing to watch with Dean, gazing over at his brother's face every few seconds.

"Think this is our kinda gig?" Sam wondered.

Dean swallowed. "We hunt monsters, Sam. We don't investigate missing persons."

"I dunno," Sam pushed, "Sometimes monsters take their victims hostage and keep them alive for long-term feeding."

"This isn't our type of thing," Dean declared, "It's just some twisted asshole, fucking everything up. There's people in this world who are sick, Sammy. It's best you learn that now."

Sam drummed his fingers against the top of the washing machine. "I like to believe there's some good in everyone."

Dean looked his brother in the eye. It felt like the two of them were finally seeing each other for the first time. "That's pretty naive of you."

"Not naive," Sam explained, "Just optimistic. You might have to dig a little deeper to find it, but I think all people are capable of at least a tiny bit of good."

Dean's gaze softened and he couldn't help but feel his heart break at the thought of Sam wanting to believe in him.

"No, Sam," Dean said, almost sadly, "Not everyone."

\----

It's crazy what a few days of quality bro time could do to the Winchesters.

Their routine was always the same. Wake up, take Sam to school, do whatever necessary to make a few bucks, until it was time to pick Sam up from soccer practice or whatever else he might have after school. They'd go back to the room, Dean would crack open a few beers (anything to numb the ache in his chest) and Sammy would start his homework. They'd bicker over places to eat, Dean would lose, and they'd stare at each other across the booth until it was time to go home and sleep.

Dean liked the system they had. It kept his schedule in order and helped him screw his head on straight. No uncertainty, no temptation, no having to play the good son in order to defuse the never-ending Sam vs John tension. It was nice, and Dean always knew what to expect...usually. Things were off this time around.

Their routine might've been the same, but after the conversation they had at the laundromat, Sam's already strange behavior got even weirder. He was quiet for about a day, until all the sudden he wasn't and he started asking Dean questions again.

_Are you going out tonight? Why can't I ever come with you? Yeah I know I'm not old enough, but neither are you, will you stop treating me like a kid?_

Dean put up with it. Carefully crafted his answers, danced around the subjects he wanted to avoid, made sure to turn the conversation in the complete opposite direction of where Sam wanted it to go.

_I don't see the money you hustled anywhere, where is it? Did you gamble it away? When? Was I at school?_

It was incredibly annoying, for the most part. The other half of the time, Dean was itching to tell the truth, longing for Sam's hitched breathing and wide eyes when he finally admitted that he was a killer.

_Why're your knuckles always so bruised? Is it cause of hunting, or somethin' else?  When was the last time we went on a hunt together, Dean?_

Dean's resolve remained intact, right up until the point Sam started flirting. Now, Dean might've been a lot of things- cruel, evil, a heartless son of a bitch- but he most definitely wasn't invincible. Sex, flirting, and impure intent were all things Dean recognized better than the back of his hand, and Sam, practically offering himself up on a silver platter? There was no way in hell he would've withstood that. His brother was really going the full nine yards, fluttering his lashes, looking at the ground when he laughed, biting his lip. Any normal man would be driven crazy, tempted by the sight, but a man like Dean Winchester had absolutely no hope. 

Sam knew exactly how good he looked, perched across the table at another small-town diner, licking salt off his fingers, with a blush on his cheeks. He was swinging his legs under the table, "accidentally" brushing his ankle over Dean's leg every once in a while. Today was their last day alone together before John came back, and Sam was laying it on thick.

_When's dad gonna be back? Really, tomorrow? Can we go somewhere that's just us, De? Things are so much easier when you're the only one around._

Every one in a while, Dean would make some excuse to leave the table- said he had to go to the bathroom, or forgot his wallet in the car, maybe wanted a piece of pie they had sitting on the counter- and Sam was taking _forever_ to eat. It was most definitely deliberate and Sam made sure he paused between every bite to say something to Dean. The longer they sat crammed together in this booth, the harder it was for Dean not to reach across the table and do all the dirty things he shouldn't.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, popping a fry in his mouth, then pausing to chew. Dean's eyes were on his neck when he swallowed, "Do you trust me?"

That hadn't been the question Dean was expecting. "'Course I do, we've always had each other's back."

Sam pouted. His collar bones were clearly visible in the shirt he was wearing and Dean ached to pull it down farther, and expose one of the sun kissed shoulders underneath. "Then why won't you tell me the truth?"

Dean licked his lips. "M'not sure I know what you mean."

Sam scowled at him through his bangs with an unmistakable glint in his eyes. "Don't make me spell it out for you, Dean. It won't end well."

"Are you threatening me, Sammy?"

Sam didn't flinch. "Not a threat, it's a fact."

For some reason, that made Dean's insides twist, in the best way possible. This was hotter than it had any right to be, and only a person as fucked up as Dean would get off on the fact that their little sibling was trying to manipulate them. He wanted to play Sammy's game, so he did.

"Looks like you're gonna have to tell me," Dean leered with an intense, undisguised hunger, "Cause I've got no idea what you're talkin' about."

"Oh, yes you do. The strange outings, the disappearances, coming home covered in blood, all the lying. There's days you can't even look me in the eye and I see you moving around all tense, peekin' through the curtains like someone's comin' to bust down our door any minute. I know you're hiding something, Dean, and I want you to say it."

Dean felt antsy like a child. He hands were shaking on the table, using all the strength he could muster not to yank Sam into his lap and make a mess of him. "You're not gonna like the answer."

"Stop fucking around, Dean," Sam demanded, his gaze hardening, "I want you to admit what you did."

He seemed angry all of a sudden, and Dean didn't like the change in mood. "Admit what?"

"I know you killed Tracy Longhorn, and I want you to say it out loud!"

" _Keep your fucking voice down_!" Dean hissed, looking around frantically to see if they'd drawn any unwanted attention. Thankfully they hadn't, everyone was too busy with their own affairs to notice the Winchesters.

"That's not the reaction of an innocent man," Sam pointed out, leaning closer to Dean, while quieting his voice. He didn't look disgusted, like Dean always assumed he would be. Instead he looked smug. He was proud of himself for finally getting the killer right where he wanted him.

"You're making some bold accusations here, Sam," Dean cautioned, loving the way Sam was gazing at him right now, a predator cornering its prey. If Sam kept pushing, Dean was gonna take him to bed and there were no guarantees both of them would make it out alive, "I suggest you stop before thing get messy,"

Sam smirked. "Look who's threatening who now."

"What do you want me to do here, Sam?" Dean snapped, "Say that I did it? Fine, I _fucking_ did it, are you happy now?"

"Not quite," Sam shook his head, smirking like the little bastard he was, "You still never told me about all the others."

Dean was baffled, and a little upset. "How did-"

"Because we grew up in each other's back pockets, and I notice these things Dean. You were hysterical when you came home after the first victim."

Dean remembers. Vividly. It had been torture to be around Sam, his less than brotherly urges taking control. Kiss him or kill him, Dean didn't really care. He wanted both. But he knew he'd get neither, so he decided to go out and get the next best thing. When he came back to the motel, he was a mess...

_"Dean, where the hell have you been?" Sam cried._

_Dean was soaking wet and dripping all over the floor. He'd walked home, allowing the rain to seep through his clothes and settle in his bones, spreading a deep chill all over his body. His clothes were drenched in more than water, and the rain had managed to hide the tears leaking down his face._

_"Oh my god, you're hurt!" Sam panicked, jolting up right to strip Dean out of his clothes and check for injuries. He didn't argue. Things were staring to go numb, and Sam would see it wasn't his blood soon enough._

_"You know I'd do anything to keep you safe, right?" Dean asked._

_"Y-Yeah, Dean, I know," Sam frowned, his face creased in worry._

_Dean crumbled after that, settling into a state of unresponsiveness while Sam tried everything he could to make it better. He started screaming at one point, pounding on Dean's chest to get something,_ anything, _out of his brother. The next eight hours passed in a blur of restless sleep and Sam's worrying._

_Dean dragged himself into the shower after Sam exhausted himself and fell asleep. When he was finished, he looked at himself in the mirror and rationalized that everything he did was for the safety of Sam. He took care of what he needed to so that Sam didn't end up like Annie Johnson, his first victim._

After that night, it got easier and Dean started to like it.

"Fine. Annie Johnson, Katie Murphy, Felicity Richards, and Tracy Longhorn. I did it. All of them, it was all me," Dean grit out as quietly as possible. They were still in a public place, but ironically it was safer for Dean to have this conversation here, with a dozen witnesses, instead of alone in the motel room. It meant there was zero chance he would do something to Sam that'd he'd regret the next morning.

"Was that so hard?" Sam teased. Dean just confessed to first degree murder and Sam was _making jokes._ This wasn't how he expected it to go down at all.

"You're taking this lightly," Dean observed.

Sam shrugged. "I've know for months. I had time to freak out, and then come to terms with it. It wasn't hard to figure out. The television reports, the newspaper articles, all the mysterious searches on my computer that you thought I wouldn't notice. You're good, I'll give you that, but this is _me_ we're talking about. I'm the only person you could never hide from."

"So how do you know I wasn't just lookin' for a case, huh?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You never get that anxious when looking for a case. Just the other day, you completely dropped everything when they officially declared Tracy missing. You get withdrawn for a little while, and clam up. I know you, Dean, and it was easy to get the names of all your victims. You've got a pattern."

"That's a lie," Dean scoffed, "I never kill the same way twice."

"No, you don't." Sam agreed, "But it's not _how_ you kill, it's _who_ you kill. They all looked like me."

Dean's heart sped up. "They were girls. You might be a bitch, but your chest is too flat for you to be a woman," he said, attempting to use humor as a way to dodge the conversation he knew he couldn't avoid any longer.

"None of them were exactly built like Julia Roberts, Dean. They were as tall as I am, and lanky, and their fucking eyes were the same color as mine. You couldn't have been more obvious if you tried."

Dean was floundering. He didn't know what to do. What could he possibly say to that? _Yeah, Sam, you're right and I did it all on purpose. I wanna fuck you up so bad it drives me to the point where I do crazy, stupid things._

"I can see smoke comin' out your ears," Sam said, "Don't strain yourself."

"Why now?" Dean wondered, "If you've known for so long, how come you waited until this moment to bring it up?"

"I had to be certain," Sam explained, "And I was, for the most part. After Felicity, I knew you were the killer and I was right. But what I couldn't figure out was _why_. What possible motive could a person that saves the world have for killing innocent women? So I went back, studied everything they had in common and that's when I noticed they looked like me. Then I came to the conclusion you killed them 'cause you want me in ways you shouldn't, and you don't know how to cope with it."

Dean felt sick. He was embarrassed, and ashamed, and also a little relieved that he didn't have to hide it anymore.

"Relax," Sam sighed, "It's not your fault. You only want me because I made you want me."

"What?" Dean was confused, "Sammy, don't- don't try to put the blame on yourself. It was me, this is something that I did, because there's something wrong with me."

"Come on, you really think two kids can grow up the way we did and get out unscathed? This is a two way street, Dean, I want you just as bad as you want me, and I have since I was thirteen years old. All those time you heard me jerkin' off in the shower, caught me doin' something with my shirt off, felt me rubbing against you when I was "asleep". I did it on purpose. I didn't think you felt the same way, so I did stupid stuff to try and seduce you. Used to think I was the only one who was fucked up, so I coped with it by trying to get you in bed with me. My way was arguably healthier than yours, but still pretty messed up nonetheless," Sam confessed. He said everything with a sheepish grin and downward eyes.

Dean felt so dizzy, he saw stars blurring the edges of his vision. He was either going to have a heart attack or pass out, and neither of those options sounded particularly fun. "Wait- lemme get this straight-"

Sam interrupted Dean, to clarify. "You wanna fuck me because _I_ want you to fuck me. I've been messing with your head for almost two years now. Your desire to kill...well that's all on you, but the other stuff...I can take the blame for that."

Dean was trying to wrap his brain around it all, but it wasn't working very well. "If I'm being honest, I think I would've wanted you with or without the extra push. But you said you put everything together after Felicity, and you still didn't say anything. Why'd you wait until after I snapped again and hurt Tracy?"

"Selfish reasons," Sam admitted, "I was gonna see how far I could take things, try to find your breaking point. I didn't know you were gonna snap again, or else I would've done something sooner. Then it coulda been me instead of her. I know what you like."

Sam was playing games again. They'd gotten the hard part over. Both of them had made their confessions, said what they needed to say, and the air between them was clear. The Winchester brothers were ten kinds of twisted and neither one cared. In fact, Sam seemed to be getting off on the fact that Dean could hurt him at any moment. His pupils were massive, and only the smallest ring of hazel could be seen around the dark circles. The next few moments were crucial. Dean had to play his cards right, make sure that Sam knew exactly what he was getting himself into before they took the risk.

Dean wouldn't kill Sam. It would be like killing a part of himself in the process, because without Sam there was no Dean. But he would probably hurt him, and there was no telling how bad. It didn't seem to matter, though. Sam wanted danger and adventure and, most importantly, he already wanted Dean.

"If you know what I like, then you know what you'd be getting yourself into," Dean growled.

Sam nodded, "Yes."

"Good," Dean's grin was somewhere between a sadistic smirk and a sneer. "You're just the type of pretty thing I'd like to have hangin' off the edge of my knife."

Sam peeked up through his eyelashes, baby-soft and full of sin. "Thanks...but I think I'd look even prettier hanging off the edge of your dick instead."

That was the moment Dean Winchester knew he'd fallen in love.

"Get in the car," he ordered, slapping thirty bucks on the table to pay for their unfinished meals. There was no room for argument.

Dean strode outside with the swagger of a predator, suddenly animalistic in all his actions. Sam had barely closed the Impala's door before Dean was slamming on the gas, pulling out of the parking lot so fast the tires screeched against the pavement. They were pushing 115 mph when they reached the motel parking lot, and Dean dragged Sam into their room by the collar of his shirt.

When the door was shut, Dean had Sam slammed against it, cheek rubbing against the smooth wood. "I'm gonna destroy you," he promised, whispering darkly in Sam's ear. Sam shivered and arched his body so that he could feel himself rubbing against Dean.

"Promises, promises," Sam said, voice thick with arousal.

"Better watch the attitude, Sam," Dean warned, "You're already treading on dangerous ground. Wouldn't wanna do somethin' that might make me _snap."_

"Go ahead," Sam encouraged, "Do it. C'mon, I want you to do to me what you did to those women."

"M'not gonna kill you," Dean protested.

"Don't want you to," Sam said, wiggling out of Dean's grip so that his back was to the door and he could look his brother in the eyes. They were nearly the same height, now.

"I just wanna feel it. I wanna know this is happening, and that I'm not imagining it. Make sure I never forget what it's like to have you inside me. Please?" Sam pleaded, sagging against Dean's chest, "Pretty please?"

"Get on the fucking bed."

Sam scrambled to obey, flinging himself down on the mattress, watching with wonder-struck eyes as Dean crawled on top of him. Dean fumbled around for the pocket knife he always kept on him, and Sam gasped when he saw the glint of silver metal in the dimly lit room. Dean grabbed the collar of Sam's shirt again, lifting him off the bed slightly, before he pressed the blade against the fabric of Sam's t-shirt, cutting down the center of it in one swift motion. Sam shrugged out of the remaining pieces of fabric while Dean set the knife on the nightstand, and grabbed his brother by the neck, pulling their faces together for their first kiss.

Instant bliss clouded Dean's mind. _He was kissing Sam._ It's everything he's ever wanted and dreaded, wrapped up into one perfect moment, all sealed with a tiny red bow. Sam's mouth was softer than Dean could've possibly imagined, pliant and willing, gladly opening up for the invasion of his older brother's tongue. They weren't gentle, and there was no beating around the bush. This was dirty, and aggressive, and just a little bit messy, as years of angst, turmoil, and longing spilled out into the open. Dean felt more powerful than ever, with his little brother beneath him, half naked and moaning into the kiss. Sam was already hard and grinding against Dean's thigh, losing himself a little bit more every moment.

"Sure you want this?" Dean mumbled against Sam's lips. He might've been a killer, but he wasn't a rapist. His victims were always willing to get in bed with him.

"Been waitin' on it for a long time," Sam whispered.

Dean kissed him again, grabbing Sam's face and tilting his head to the angle he wanted it, while he forced them into an upright position.  Sam allowed himself to be manipulated like a puppet, more than happy to let Dean yank on his strings.

"Off," he whined, pulling at the hem of Dean's shirt, waiting for his big brother to raise his arms so they could strip it away.

Once it was gone, Dean began mouthing at the sensitive areas under Sam's jaw, biting down harshly overtop the bone. There were indents were Dean's teeth had been and small red patches instantly began to blossom over Sam's skin. After he'd done significant damage, making sure the area would bruise, Dean pulled back to admire his handiwork, while Sam kept his head tilted back to expose the vulnerable flesh of his throat.

"You've got no idea how good you look like this," Dean marveled, losing himself in the way Sam gave up all control.

"Want you to mark me," Sam said, reaching around to dig his nails into the muscles of Dean's back. He cursed at the sting, but couldn't stop himself from arching into the pain.

"Last chance to back out," Dean said, reaching for the button on Sam's jeans, "Once these come off, there's no goin' back."

Sam's voice was soft but steady when he said, "Make it hurt."

The removal of the rest of their clothes was fast, both of them desperate to feel nothing but sweat, skin and bedsheets everywhere. Dean grabbed their cocks in his right hand and started stroking them slowly, while his left hand settled around the base of Sam's throat.

"More," Sam begged, thrusting into Dean's grip, while his dick leaked everywhere, "Please, more."

Dean smiled patronizingly, tightening his fingers around Sam's neck, as his stroking came to a complete stop,  "I don't think you're in any place to make demands."

"Please, Dean," Sam choked out, barely receiving enough oxygen through Dean's steel grip.

"So needy," Dean chuckled, watching Sam's cheeks turn red as he struggled to take in air. After another few seconds, Dean released his hold and Sam gasped, taking in a deep breath before they were kissing again. Dean bit down so hard on Sam's bottom lip that he drew blood, and his little brother yelped in surprise. There was a tiny red smear across his chin when he pulled away, and Dean's small act of dominance made Sam's dick even harder. A few more strokes had him panting into the crook of Dean's neck, and precome dripping all the way down Dean's wrist. If he wasn't careful, Sam would finish before the fun even started, and even though he wouldn't be using any weapons, Dean planned to torture Sam all night long.

"Roll over," he ordered, removing his hand while Sam whimpered in protest. Sam still did as he was told, though, even raised his hips a little to offer himself to Dean like a fucking present. For a moment, Dean considered getting up to grab the lube he kept in his duffel, then he remembered the way Sam had asked him to make it hurt. "Ever been fingered before?"

"No," Sam told him, "Not by anyone else. I'm the only one who's ever been back there."

Dean's mouth was watering. "You telling me you've got a virgin ass?"

"Mhm," Sam hummed, closing his eyes while he started rubbing his cock against the sheets.

A _fucking_ virgin. Dean put his hands on Sam's ass, pulling it apart just the slightest bit to stare at the untouched, pink skin that was hidden between. Knowing that he was the only one to ever touch Sam like this drove him wild, and the entire situation somehow grew simultaneously more perfect and more wrong.

"You're gonna be the death of me, kid," Dean groans, wishing he could bury his face between Sam's cheeks.

 _Not right now_ , he thinks, _Don't wanna get him too loose._

He settles for licking one solid strip right up the middle, Sam keening at the unexpected feeling of Dean's tongue in places it never should be. The broken noise that comes out of Sam's mouth makes Dean slip a little further away into the dark places of his mind where he has no influence over his actions. If he's not careful, things could go South very easily, so he takes a second to compose himself before reaching around to shove three of his fingers into Sam's mouth.

"Better make 'em wet, cause this is all the lube you're gettin'."

Sam sucked diligently, running his tongue up and down all three of them, before he pulls back to take one digit in his mouth at a time. His cheeks hollow a little bit, and he keeps his teeth carefully tucked behind his lips. Dean's not sure where he learned to do all that, but he thanks his lucky stars, as he imagines what it'll be like to get his cock into all that velvety softness. When Dean starts enjoying himself a little too much, he pulls his hand back and says, "That's enough," before working his middle finger into Sam's hole.

It's as tight as he knew it would be, pulling him in like a vice, wet-hot and absolutely amazing. Sam was gorgeous, moaning and writhing, fisting the sheets, all from only one finger. Dean couldn't wait to see how wrecked he got when there was a dick in him. 

"Keep goin'," Sam encouraged. Dead did as he was told, sliding his index finger inside next. Sam moaned again, pushing back against Dean's hand, and it wasn't long before Dean put the third and final finger in, twisting and curling them to his heart's content. Eventually, he found Sam's prostate, and his brother wailed, sounding so brokenly beautiful. 

"God, you're hot," Dean praised, mesmerized by all the tan skin and arching back before him. He teased and teased, pulling his fingers back until only the tips remained, then pushed them back in, only to brush the bundle of nerves that made Sam squirm and repeat the process. He never applied too much pressure to Sam's sweet spot, intending to drive him mad before he finally got himself balls deep.

Sam was looser now than when they began, but he was still nowhere near the point of being ready to take Dean's cock. Not for his first time, at least. But those three words still rang sweetly in Dean's ears.

_Make it hurt._

"Get ready for me, Sammy," He said, spitting one more time before lining himself up. 

"Hurry up," Sam said, eager as always. 

When Dean pushed the tip inside Sam's hole his brother screamed, partly from pleasure and partly from pain. He hadn't even gotten himself fully sheathed yet, but Dean knew this was the absolute closest to Heaven a sinner like him would ever get. With every passing moment, the desire to start thrusting like a mad man grew stronger, and Dean found himself gripping Sam's hips so tightly, the edges of his nails were breaking skin. 

"The more you relax, the faster I can move," Dean said, attempting to offer some shred of advice to provide minimal comfort, before the beast took over. Sam did his best to listen, he really did, but there was only so much a virgin could do to relax his body against the foreign intrusion, especially where there was no lube to ease the process. Sam didn't indicate whether or not he was ready for Dean to keep going, he sounded so far gone he probably wouldn't be able to vocalize his desires anyways, so Dean took that as a green light to move things along. With every inch he went, Sam's moans grew louder, and through the tears on his face, he looked like he was finally getting everything he always dreamed of. 

The moment Dean got all seven inches inside, he changed their position, pulling themselves to a sitting position once more. Sam was sitting on Dean's dick, his sweaty back pressed flush to Dean's torso. "This part's up to you, Sammy. Want you to ride me."

"Fuck," Sam sobbed, head lolling back against Dean's shoulder, "Gimmie a minute. I jus' need one minute."

Dean allowed him that much, reaching around to pump Sam's cock a few times before he started sucking a huge mark into the side of Sam's neck. He tilted his head to the right, giving Dean more access to do whatever he pleased. 

"You'd let me do whatever I wanted, wouldn't you?" Dean said against Sam's neck, running his tongue over the purplish mark. 

"Yes," Sam croaked, voice hoarse from all the crying and moaning. 

Moved by the dark impulses that too often controlled Dean's actions, he reached across to grab the knife he'd set on the nightstand, then pressed the blade against Sam's jugular. "If you were anyone else, I would've killed you by now."

Sam shuddered, his senses on overload. He feebly grasped at Dean's wrist, and the older Winchester expected Sam to try and push the blade away. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when Sam started holding him in place, pulling him just the slightest bit closer. 

"You kinky motherfucker," Dean chuckled. Sam attempted a laugh, but when his body jerked, he was reminded of the cock in his ass. 

"Move," Dean ordered, and this time Sam did. Slowly, at first, so that he could adjust to the feeling. Dean sensed the moment Sam was finally relaxed, moving himself up and down, then in small figure-eight motions, Dean's only thought being  _who the fuck taught him how to do that_? 

All of Sam's motions were cautions, he had to be sure the knife didn't cut him, but the increased risk of the additional threat was making him hornier than he'd ever been in his entire life. Despite the pain, Sam's erection never wilted. Soon enough, Sam's breathing became even faster and he started pulling on Dean's hair, indicating that h was about to come. Dean wished the moment would've lasted longer, but he too was already so close to the edge, there was no point trying to stave off the inevitable. Besides, this was only the first round of many. 

 _"Dean!"_  Sam cried, and then it was all over. The older Winchester was quick to follow, pulling their bodies closer together, if that was even possible. Feeling Sam shake and come apart around him was surreal, the feeling better than anything he's ever experienced in his entire life. 

"You're so good," he caught himself murmuring, "So good for me Sammy."

Sam sagged against him, smiling and shivering, eyes drooping shut in pleasurable satisfaction. Dean noticed a single, dark red drop sliding down towards his collar bones. He removed his hand, revealing a tiny cut on Sam's throat, accidentally given to him in the midst of their orgasm. 

"Whoops," Dean said, bending down to place a kiss where he'd hurt him. 

They sat like that for a moment, happy to be in each other arms. It was the perfect moment, right in absolutely all the wrong ways. Sam's breathing returned to normal while Dean continued to stroke his hair and murmur sweet nothings to him. 

"Hey, Dean?" Sam said, shyly, as if he hadn't just given Dean the most hidden parts of himself.

"Hmm?"

"Next time you, uh, yanno..."

"What, Sammy?"

"Next time you need to... _take_...someone...can I watch?"

It was the beginning of an addiction they couldn't control. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ALSOOOOOO for any of y'all who happen to be reading my J2 thing sorry I suck, the next chapter is in the works and will (hopefully) be the next thing I post


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